Space Nakji and the Case of the Horrible Hobo
This was posted about a year ago on Space Nakji's blog, but never here. Enjoy!
P.S.: "nakji" is Korean for octopus. The story may be less confusing if you know this.
-----
Do you know what 87 molars look like? I do. I'm Space Nakji, Dental Detective.
The night fell dark and ominous, like a cloud of soot expelled from a chimney sweep's lungs. I was angry, because if there's one thing in this world that I hate more than sparrows, it's chimney sweeps. "Chim chim cherie?" Please. Let's leave the forbidden love between Frenchman and monkey in the bedroom where it belongs.
I woke up in my chair and thought the room had been slashed to ribbons, but it was only the streetlight shining through the blinds. I flailed around a little trying to get my bearings, then spent the next 20 minutes trying to get little bits of paper off of my tentacles and back on my desk. Having suckers on your appendages is like coating your fingers in rubber cement. Except less messy, and marginally less rubbery.
The knock on my door was like a stucco tattoo, in that it was fast and tappy and it annoyed me. At least there was no glitter involved. I hate glitter, too. I once disemboweled a pixie when it looked a little twitchy with its glitter bag.
A shadow was painted on the frosted glass of my door, right below where it said "evitceteD latneD ,ijkaN ecapS". It wore a hat. I put three bullets through the window, just out of spite. I go through a lot of windows.
A figure crawled through the window, brushing broken glass off of a filthy watchman's cap. It stood there for a moment, swaying slightly, then pointed a grimy finger at me.
It watched the tip of the finger bob and weave for a moment, then shook itself and said "PHPOW! No, wait. HELLO!"
I watched it warily, one tentacle reloading my revolver, one tentacle surreptitiously shoving sugar-free candy in my beak, one tentacle stroking what I thought of as my chin in a knowing fashion, one tentacle changing channels on the radio that only received Portuguese vampire dramas, one tentacle helping another one try to remove a stray Post-It Note, one tentacle nervously opening and closing a desk drawer, and one tentacle attempting to solve Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle with a crayon and a piece of sandpaper.
The figure fell over sideways and crushed a small model of a Degas Dancer that I'd made out of toothpicks. It flung itself upright again and said "SHORRY! I seem to have crushed your tiny dancer!" He blinked owlishly at me, then shrieked and ran around the room while my owl (Bicuspid) tried to have sex with his face.
When he'd successfully fended off the winged menace, he staggered to my desk and put his hands on the edge to steady himself. He breathed hard in my face, and black spots danced before my eyes. I wondered if it was possible to get the plague if someone who'd eaten plague rats breathed on you. I shot him with my stun gun to get him to back off a little, and he flopped over backwards again.
"WHOO!" he said after a moment. "Thash wonner...winder...wiffle...FABULUSH! HEY!" He swayed at me for a moment, collecting what I assumed were thoughts, but may have been dust and/or lice. "You find things! Right?"
I gave him my best gimlet eye, even curling my lip up a little bit.
"WOW!" he exclaimed! "Your eye! Just like a gimlet! You." He put a finger to his chin, thought for a moment. I heard a sound like a meat grinder grinding another meat grinder. "Find things. Like teeth. You find teeth?" The last question was plaintive, like a kitten asking a unicorn if it was cute enough.
"I lost my grill!" He wailed. "I gots to find it again! I'll pay you!" He hunted through his pockets, pulled out a snake, put it back. Pulled out a faberge egg, put it back. Pulled out a stuffed armadillo, put it back. Pulled out a scale model of a cougar, which he stroked, looked me in the eye and said "This is great. Everyone should have one. Cougars are awesome!" and put it back. Then be pulled out a sack and tossed it on my desk. Well, it was clear that he meant to toss it on my desk, but he threw it over his shoulder instead. He retrieved it bashfully and put it on my desk with great care. Then he patted it.
"Open it up, it's all there."
I opened the bag. 87 creamy smooth molars glinted back at me. There was enough enamel in there to paint the inside of a toaster. I smiled, and shot the hobo.
I figured out a long time ago that it was easier to just shoot people who came in my door. It was faster than all of that mucking about with "solving things" and it paid the same. Sometimes more, depending on what they had in their pockets. Besides. People who are looking for teeth deserve to get bitten. So really, I'm just providing a service. I leaned back in my chair and waited for the next bite on my line.
P.S.: "nakji" is Korean for octopus. The story may be less confusing if you know this.
-----
Do you know what 87 molars look like? I do. I'm Space Nakji, Dental Detective.
The night fell dark and ominous, like a cloud of soot expelled from a chimney sweep's lungs. I was angry, because if there's one thing in this world that I hate more than sparrows, it's chimney sweeps. "Chim chim cherie?" Please. Let's leave the forbidden love between Frenchman and monkey in the bedroom where it belongs.
I woke up in my chair and thought the room had been slashed to ribbons, but it was only the streetlight shining through the blinds. I flailed around a little trying to get my bearings, then spent the next 20 minutes trying to get little bits of paper off of my tentacles and back on my desk. Having suckers on your appendages is like coating your fingers in rubber cement. Except less messy, and marginally less rubbery.
The knock on my door was like a stucco tattoo, in that it was fast and tappy and it annoyed me. At least there was no glitter involved. I hate glitter, too. I once disemboweled a pixie when it looked a little twitchy with its glitter bag.
A shadow was painted on the frosted glass of my door, right below where it said "evitceteD latneD ,ijkaN ecapS". It wore a hat. I put three bullets through the window, just out of spite. I go through a lot of windows.
A figure crawled through the window, brushing broken glass off of a filthy watchman's cap. It stood there for a moment, swaying slightly, then pointed a grimy finger at me.
It watched the tip of the finger bob and weave for a moment, then shook itself and said "PHPOW! No, wait. HELLO!"
I watched it warily, one tentacle reloading my revolver, one tentacle surreptitiously shoving sugar-free candy in my beak, one tentacle stroking what I thought of as my chin in a knowing fashion, one tentacle changing channels on the radio that only received Portuguese vampire dramas, one tentacle helping another one try to remove a stray Post-It Note, one tentacle nervously opening and closing a desk drawer, and one tentacle attempting to solve Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle with a crayon and a piece of sandpaper.
The figure fell over sideways and crushed a small model of a Degas Dancer that I'd made out of toothpicks. It flung itself upright again and said "SHORRY! I seem to have crushed your tiny dancer!" He blinked owlishly at me, then shrieked and ran around the room while my owl (Bicuspid) tried to have sex with his face.
When he'd successfully fended off the winged menace, he staggered to my desk and put his hands on the edge to steady himself. He breathed hard in my face, and black spots danced before my eyes. I wondered if it was possible to get the plague if someone who'd eaten plague rats breathed on you. I shot him with my stun gun to get him to back off a little, and he flopped over backwards again.
"WHOO!" he said after a moment. "Thash wonner...winder...wiffle...FABULUSH! HEY!" He swayed at me for a moment, collecting what I assumed were thoughts, but may have been dust and/or lice. "You find things! Right?"
I gave him my best gimlet eye, even curling my lip up a little bit.
"WOW!" he exclaimed! "Your eye! Just like a gimlet! You." He put a finger to his chin, thought for a moment. I heard a sound like a meat grinder grinding another meat grinder. "Find things. Like teeth. You find teeth?" The last question was plaintive, like a kitten asking a unicorn if it was cute enough.
"I lost my grill!" He wailed. "I gots to find it again! I'll pay you!" He hunted through his pockets, pulled out a snake, put it back. Pulled out a faberge egg, put it back. Pulled out a stuffed armadillo, put it back. Pulled out a scale model of a cougar, which he stroked, looked me in the eye and said "This is great. Everyone should have one. Cougars are awesome!" and put it back. Then be pulled out a sack and tossed it on my desk. Well, it was clear that he meant to toss it on my desk, but he threw it over his shoulder instead. He retrieved it bashfully and put it on my desk with great care. Then he patted it.
"Open it up, it's all there."
I opened the bag. 87 creamy smooth molars glinted back at me. There was enough enamel in there to paint the inside of a toaster. I smiled, and shot the hobo.
I figured out a long time ago that it was easier to just shoot people who came in my door. It was faster than all of that mucking about with "solving things" and it paid the same. Sometimes more, depending on what they had in their pockets. Besides. People who are looking for teeth deserve to get bitten. So really, I'm just providing a service. I leaned back in my chair and waited for the next bite on my line.
coughed this up at 2:21 PM
1 El Commentos:
You two are the best writers I know. Long may you live and prosper. That you are not able to write for a living is a crime.
Post a Comment
<< Flee!